


Small Dreams of a Scorpion

by Spinifex



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Body Dysphoria, F/F, Introspection, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24232795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinifex/pseuds/Spinifex
Summary: 'She speaks to me, I hear her in my mind.  Her voice is dark, soft, sweet.'Seven ruminates on being severed from the collective, and considers the best course of action in response to her growing regard for Janeway.  The slow desperate scraping of a mind coming undone.(Originally posted in 2005 under 'tigermoth 26')
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway/Seven of Nine
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	Small Dreams of a Scorpion

**\--------------------------**

**Small Dreams of a Scorpion**

**\--------------------------**

Commander Chakotay once described my nature in terms of a scorpion – a poisonous invertebrate with a sting in its tail. The entire crew, save for its Captain, instinctively feared me. They were insolent beings, with chaotic ways. They feared themselves worthy of assimilation, as though their meagre imperfections would be added to Our own.

Janeway tore me from my technology, my power, my perfection, and thrust me head-first into humanity. I wanted to destroy them, to destroy her. She stripped me bare of my armour plating, made me vulnerable and human, exposed.

Captain Janeway turned me into a scorpion without its casing. Everything that I was, she stole from me. No choice. I hated her, no matter how irrelevant the emotion, I was filled with indignant rage. I wanted to assimilate Janeway, to make her feel the sting in my tail, as Commander Chakotay had so claimed that I would. There was no-one who could repair me, this broken drone; Seven of Nine.

I believe that I still want to do so now. Although the years have passed and I have learned more about humanity, I still feel that I am one alone. The Captain soothes away the edges of that fear. I admire her, and I worship her. Janeway has taken her place in my collective as my Queen. She gives me the perfection that I had as a drone, and order to the turmoil that I feel. When I sleep, I dream of green and Janeway. It is worship and lust and love and perfection and nanoprobes. She has claimed me, even in my veins. We are a collective of two, in my scorpion dreams.

I dream of her assimilation. I want Janeway to be Borg, like me.

I stand now outside her quarters. The doors hiss open, and the dark flows out as I walk in. Osmosis. I assimilate the Captain gradually.

The Captain says, "It's customary for people to knock before entering Seven, you know?"

"I am aware, Captain."

She is turning, now. The yellow glow of the wall lamp illuminating her face and hair, and I think again of lust and love and nanoprobes. I am emboldened by her presence. I think that maybe, she has always been my Queen. I want her to know how much she is desired by me.

"Seven, are you okay?"

"I am... undecided, Captain." I want to raise my fingers up and touch them to her hair. I want to bend my face to hers and touch her lips to mine. I want to feel her heartbeat against my chest and I want to press her at the seam of her pants until she grows warm against my hand, and sighs my name. Not Annika, but Seven of Nine. I do not know which of these things I want to do the most. I want to do all of them, and none. My cortical node is racing with the possibilities. Now that I am here, I am no longer quite so bold.

The Captain is watching me with deep concern. Her hands are heat and electricity through my clothes. My nanoprobes, they are clamouring to meet her touch and I feel as though I may burst out of my skin. I feel her touch, as always without my scorpion's shell, I am vulnerable in her presence. Such is the strength of the way she moves me. Janeway guides me to her couch and sits with me. Her hands and knees are now touched, close to my own.

She is worried now.

"Seven, please tell me what's wrong?"

I try to tell her what I feel in words, but I am unable to comply. I feel my eyes grow wet with frustration and tears, but I do not cry. Instead, I show her what I feel with actions, rather than my inefficient words. I show her how I want to touch my fingers to her hair. I show her how I want to press her mouth to mine. She is heat and soft and perfection. I weave my bright green scorpion spell. Janeway stops me in the middle of the second kiss. Her breath comes in quick, light pants.

She asks me, "Seven, I... where did this come from?"

She holds her hands against my shoulders with sweating palms. My fingers are still crumpled in her hair. I do not understand why she is questioning me now, she never resisted me in my dreams. My green spell is broken and my courage is once again gone. I let my fingers fall quickly from the bright red pieces of her hair. 

"I am sorry, Captain." I tell her, shaken. "I was not..."

The heat of her hands burns me and I am unable to finish. I stand up abruptly, away from her touch and I move away towards her cabin doors.

"I have to leave." I am mortified, what have I done? I flicker my eyes to hers where she is still sitting upon the lounge with her arm held out still, in shock, to me.

"Seven, wait!"

I am already at the doorway, with the light moving out and the darkness seeping in. I look back once, in panic. I need to get away from here, I long for the cocoon of my scorpion shell.

"I was in error, Captain. I cannot..."

And I leave.

**\----------------**

**Slow Burn in Red**

**\----------------**

I am feigning regeneration inside my alcove. I do not sleep because I do not want to face my dreams of Janeway, and perfection, and lust, and love. My dreams have failed me with promises of things that cannot be mine. I do not know why I cannot have that which I desire, to make the Captain Borg, like me. I have avoided her presence for several days.

I need to get her out of my mind.

I do not want to dream in green again, I want so desperately to hide, but the memory of her will not leave me be.

I burn inside, with thoughts of Janeway. I burn inside, in red.

I do not belong here. I am neither Borg nor Human. I was wrong to think that I could replace the Borg Queen with Captain Janeway. I am unworthy of her presence. I am too imperfect, I am too flawed, and I have no one.

The cargo bay doors hiss open and someone lets the pale light from the corridor seep in to my alcove, where I am standing in the darkness and the green. I wish that the person would go away. I close my eyes and attempt to ignore them. Hopefully they will realise that I wish to be left in peace.

Alone; as I should be.

The person does not take my hint to leave and moves to stand in front of me. The cargo bay doors hiss closed and we are in the flickering green darkness again. I give up my pretence of sleep and glare. It is the Doctor. "Why have you disturbed me?" My voice is calm. The clear, cold tone of it conceals my despair.

The Doctor has a hand case and a brow creased deep with concern. He is opening the data of my Regeneration Log. He reads it with a frown.

"Good morning to you, too, Seven. Aren't you just a little ray of sunshine?"

I decline to reply to his pleasantries. I attempt to ignore him again by closing my eyes. The Doctor scans me with his tricorder. "Seven, you've missed your last two check-ups, and your Regeneration Logs are telling me that you haven't regenerated for a full cycle in the last three days! Would you mind telling me what's going on?"

I am reminded again of my scorpion dreams. I remember Janeway's hands upon my arms, the pressure of her mouth and the wicked red heat. I let my breath out tremulously, but make sure that my reply is firm. "No, Doctor. I am fine."

"I'm not inclined to think you are -"

"I do not wish to discuss my personal issues with you!" I lose my control and the Doctor steps backwards. He is somewhat shaken by the force of my reply. "...I...am sorry, Doctor." I exhale slowly and attempt to soothe the Doctor's nerves. I should not blame him for my flaws. "I have had a...'difficult week'."

The Doctor snaps his tricorder closed and places it inside his hand case. He appears to be sympathetic, yet unimpressed. "So I see, Seven."

His expression softens as he steps up on my dais. "You know, if something's troubling you, it's better not to keep it inside." He briefly lays his hand over mine. "If you don't want to talk to me about it, then perhaps you should speak to Captain Janeway? She's been asking after you recently, you know."

I imagine my nanoprobes rushing up against my skin at the mention of the Captain's name. My pulse temporarily speeds up its beating and I think again of dreams in green.

"Thank you, Doctor. However, I cannot. I fear that I have irrecoverably damaged my friendship with her. I am -"

I stop myself before I reveal too much, and straighten the metal of my spine as I recover my composure again. I cast my eyes upon the Doctor and I make up an excuse in order to explain.

"I have been working on repairing the microfractures in the Jeffries Tubes on Deck Ten,” I tell him, recounting my activities of the past three days. "It is a menial task, but it must be done. I do not wish to disturb the Captain, and I do not want to displease her. I have been trying to complete my task as efficiently as I can."

The Doctor cocks his head and examines my features quizzically. I wonder if he can see through my facade and read my scorpion dreams.

"Very well, Seven. But it's no good reason for you to jeopardise your health, you need to regenerate. Now, I suggest that you at least try and talk things over with the Captain, and clear the air."

He gives me a look that is pointed with concern. For a moment, I think that perhaps he has seen inside my mind, and knows the bright green colour that I fear. He turns around and walks towards the doors, then pauses, and says; "Sometimes things are not as bad as you think they are, Seven. You should give yourself a chance."

The doors hiss open, and then they close. I hear his footsteps fade away.

Inside my dark, green cargo bay, I am again alone.

**\-------**

**Osmosis**

**\-------**

My designation is Seven of Nine. I am Borg. This drone was stolen from the Collective. Captain Janeway took her place as my Queen. Yet upon her, I may never lay my claim. A scorpion lives inside of me, I would wound her with my sting.

She is right to reject this broken drone.

The Cargo Bay doors hiss open and somebody walks in. I can feel their heat draw near to me as they step up upon my dais. There is only one person who would dare to stand so close. My eyes fly open and I feel my nanoprobes burn, dark and hungry.

Captain Janeway is here.

The Captain studies me with sad, blue eyes. I have avoided her for many days. Her presence gives me a familiar metal rush. She parts her lips and wets them with her dark red tongue.

"Seven. Won't you speak to me?"

Her voice is strained and gravelly. It courses across my body as a long-neglected caress. The anxiety in her expression gives me pain. She looks as if she has not slept for days. Her hand is raised, haltingly outward. She holds me without touching. I am pinned in place. I want to run. I do not want to face her, but I am unable to hide. I swallow slowly, with difficulty. My nanoprobes are bursting from my veins, wanting to feel the touch of her. The Captain's presence drives me torturously, exquisitely insane.

I hesitate in my reply. I have no idea where to begin. I feel the cold green prickle of the scorpion within. How can I describe to her the frightening colour of my dreams?

The Captain takes my pause and fills the silence with her words. I feel her seeping into me. Her heat sears effortlessly through the fabric of my clothes. I could wear layer upon layer of multi-phasic shielding, and still she would flow into me. She is love and perfection and lust and nanoprobes. It gives me great sadness to know she will not be mine.

The Captain speaks again. "Seven, about the other afternoon. You never gave me a chance to explain. -"

"You rejected me."

"No. Seven, that's not true,"

I watch the solid red line of her jacket as she inhales beneath my alcove light. Her voice rises slightly in exclamation and dancing threads of green intersect the width of her jacket as it rises and falls. I wish that I could seep into her as easily as the coloured lights that mingle there. I wish that I were not so Borg. I wish that there were no poisonous invertebrate, coiled cold and green inside of me. I wish for a great many things, but there is one truth that I know:

"I am unworthy of you. I am too Borg."

I show her the metal on my hand; I lift my sleeve to show the spider web of silver tendrils that trail into my flesh. I show her all the places where my scorpion casing covered and protected me. This is my true nature, Captain. I am sinister, machine.

"Is that what you believe?" she questions. Her gentle fingers wrap around my metal hand and her lashes grow heavy with a sheen of tears. "Seven...you are anything but unworthy, and you are certainly not too Borg. You have regained so much of your humanity -"

"But I am not human either, Captain. I am neither, I am... nothing."

"Not to me."

Her words cut into me with bright red intensity. It takes me a moment to process what she has spoken. I cannot believe what I have heard.

"Captain?"

"Seven..."

The Captain's gaze flickers between my entranced eyes and parted lips. I can feel her leaning, so very warm and close to me. I am captured by her gravity. I cannot pull away. Her breath is warm against my cheek. I feel her fingers tangle tightly with my own. She is red, burning. Her heavy gaze fuels my love and lust for her.

"The other afternoon, when you left so quickly - I was in shock, I had never expected..."

She pauses again to catch her breath. Her lashes spider once against my cheek. Every place where she touches me burns with fire. Her parted lips press firm, into mine. She is soft and perfection and deep, red desire. She lingers there for several moments, and the contact ends. My hungry mouth follows after her. I am addicted to her touch. I find myself breathing heavily.

I want more.

"You forgot to notice, Seven." She smiles at me. Her warm lips, red and curving. Her fingers touch lightly to the implant on my brow. I close my eyes, and wrap her tight around me. Her voice is soft, dark, sweet.

"I kissed you back."

**\-----------**

**Equilibrium**

**\-----------**

When I sleep, I dream of green and Janeway. Intense, demented images of my desire for her. Captain Janeway tastes bitter and fruity like hot black coffee and replicated wine. Her fingers curl about my collarbone, she twists them deeply into the bio-suit that covers up my skin. She is rough and indelicate; her teeth are pulling, her tongue, wet. She grasps my skull hard, holding me steady as we grind together with our mouths. Her kisses drag me under and I drown willingly. I am panting, insane. I want her.

Take me, Captain. Claim me.

"Computer, initiate privacy lockout for Captain's Quarters. Authorisation: Janeway -Omega - Three."

This is no dream. She is solid in my hands, real. Voyager locks the doors behind us. The starlight through the warp field pokes feebly at the darkness. I kiss the Captain again. I slide my fingers through her hair. The strands are silk, warm. She groans into my mouth, deeply. She presses me harder, crushing my breasts against her own. I tremble with anticipation. I caress her through her clothes. She does the same to me. Her fingers press me here, and here, and here. I feel myself grow warm and moist between my thighs. I am nervous, irrational, wild.

I stroke her neck with my cold metal hand.

I feel the tension, that scorpion urge; _assimilate her, assimilate her, assimilate her_. 

_Resistance is futile._

Captain Janeway's kisses cease abruptly. Her gaze is startled, bright, wide. She pulls her body back, separate. Away from my hold.

"God, Seven - what are you doing!"

I stare at my metal hand in horror, the sting in my tail. The silver tubules retract into my skin. Commander Chakotay was accurate. I cannot deny the scorpion inside of me, it is a part of who I am. It is my nature. I am metal. _Cold. Machine_. I scream without sound. I rage, I grieve. 

See what the Collective has denied me?

"Captain...Captain..." I cannot speak between the catches in my breath. I feel pain. It is twisted, vile, green.

The Captain's hands, gentle and guiding now. She leads me to her sofa and pulls me down beside her. Janeway cradles me in the starlit darkness, stroking in swathes along my hunching back. She bids me rest my head against her shoulder. I stain her tunic's band of red with the bitterness of my tears. I hear the Captain soothing me, hushing my name, over and over. 

"Oh, Seven. Seven of Nine."

My breathing evens with the passage of time. My lungs burn with the numbing fade of anger. I have cursed the lurking greenness until there is nothing left for me to say. I am empty, tortured. I rise, defeated. I will return to my Cargo Bay. I am a fool to believe I can be human.

I am Borg. 

One of nothing.

This broken drone; Seven of Nine.

"No Seven, don't leave." Janeway rises up alongside me. Her slender fingers wrap around my forearm. She tugs me close, until I am facing her. Her muscles tremor where she swallows at her throat. "Stay with me tonight, Seven."

Her voice is harsh, desperate. "Please stay."

"Captain-"

"- Kathryn."

"Kathryn, are you certain?"

I move my metal hand between us, a reminder of what I am. I feel sick inside.

I am Borg. Borg. Borg.

The Captain clasps my hand in both of hers. She is love and lust and nanoprobes. I find it difficult to comprehend. Janeway drives me crazy, wanton. Demented with desire. She presses the metal to her lips. One kiss for each cold fingertip. My nanoprobes swarm against the hot, wet touch. My blood rushes, pulsing, frenzied. So skilfully does she arouse my desire for her.

"I love you, Seven,” she says, "For everything that you are."

"Borg?"

"Yes."

"Imperfect?"

"Yes."

"Flawed?"

She presses her forefinger against my lips. "Yes Seven. _Everything._ Believe me."

Her declaration forces clear bright tears from my eyes. I drag her to me. Devouring her with my teeth, my eyes hard shut. It is a slow, tormenting burn. 

Treacherous, red, dark. 

We stumble, tearing now at one another's clothing. I am pulled under, held tightly. The heat of her fat round breasts against my bare skin is intense, searing like ice. I impact violently against the frame of her bedroom door. The corner is a distinct slice of pain against my back.

Janeway's tongue is sticky heat, sliding on the pulse point at my throat. Absorbing me.

I am raw and naked, surging. I pound with lust and nanoprobes. Her mouth closes over my breast. Her small hands are bruising, urgent. _Perfection._ I tear my fingernails across her shoulder blades. She sucks me roughly. Tasting my sweat with her hungry tongue.

She is pleasure, insanity.

I feel the scorpion in my veins.

I am slipping, drowning, losing control.

Echoes of the Collective scream inside my head. I am a slave to the metal. 

_I am Borg. Machine. Resistance is futile._

No!

I will not comply.

The mattress crumples as Janeway drags me down onto her bed. Her tongue is in my mouth again; demanding, passionate. I cannot get enough. I push our clothing down, away onto the deck. She has hair, red; between her thighs. I want to stroke my fingers through it. I want to press my body against her breasts and sink my teeth into her curving neck. She is perfection, heat, love. Her eyes are dark and blue and stormy. She takes my trembling fingers in her hand and presses them between her thighs.

"Touch me here, Seven." She commands.

She rubs my fingers back and forth over skin that is slick and heated, and soft as velvet. I follow the rhythm that her fingers provide me. She is a vision; beautiful, perfect. There is a crease of concentration in her brow. She colours me red with passion, we slide together, sticky with sweat. Her other hand rises to press between my thighs. I jerk, electric. Her fingers stroke me as I do to her. I press myself against her fingers; wanting more, needing more.

_Claim me, Captain. Assimilate me._

A thread of sound escapes my throat. Janeway's fingers slip inside of me. They are solid, intrusive. My nanoprobes surge, I cannot think; only feel. There is nothing left now, save for the pressure of the Captain's fingers and the pounding in my veins. Her flesh is slick and wet and warm. Her body grinds against me; hard and hot and fast.

She is love and perfection and darkness and desire.

I burn, unbound, out of control.

_I cannot resist her. She is everything._

I scream her name. It is a pure, metal sound. "Kathryn, Oh, Captain..."

I feel the heavy metal rush. Silver filaments reeling back into my hand.

No...

The Captain's skin turns green and grey.

Assimilated. Cold. 

She is Borg: _like me_.

Kathryn regards me with her dull blue eyes. Her greying lips curve upward in a wicked, wicked smile.

She speaks to me; I hear her in my mind. Her voice is dark, soft, sweet.

"Welcome to Our Collective, Seven of Nine."

**[END]**


End file.
